Like Alex for the past ten years, you mean.
‘You don’t need to mess around with all that, Megan.’ Lizzie shuffled uneasily in her seat.
‘Well, you can’t keep it! What if Josh sees it? How dodgy would that look?’
‘Why would he see it? I was going to bin it.’
‘Good. Because I’d hate to see you screw things up with Josh for that bastard.’ Despite their long-term friendship – or perhaps because of it – Megan still hadn’t learned to keep her opinions to herself.
‘Don’t say that.’
‘Why not?’
Lizzie didn’t have a good answer. It wasn’t like she hadn’t called him that – and worse – since the split. But somehow it sounded different coming from Megan.
‘Never mind. I should probably talk to Josh about all this though, right? Maybe tell him what happened with me and Alex?’ Not that she had much of an explanation. She still didn’t understand how two people could swiftly go from being inseparable to being continents apart.
‘What? Noooooo!’ Megan looked horrified. ‘That’s a terrible idea.’
‘Why? I’m sure he won’t mind. It was a million years ago.’
‘Yeah, I can hear that conversation now: “Hi darling, how was your day? Oh, by the way, the love of my life just waltzed back into town.” He’ll be thrilled about that.’
‘Alex isn’t the love of my life,’ said Lizzie, her head starting to throb from the strain of it all.
‘But still, it doesn’t exactly sound great, does it? And then poor Josh is going to spend the next couple of months worrying that you’re going to call off the wedding.’
‘Why would I call off the wedding?’
‘I’m not saying you would. I’m just saying that I don’t think now’s a good time to dump all of this on your fiancé.’ She raised one perfectly plucked eyebrow. ‘Look, at the end of the day, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.’
I hope not, thought Lizzie. I really hope not. ‘So what do you think I should do?’
Megan picked up the card. ‘I think we should destroy the evidence right now.’
‘You’ve been watching too much CSI: Miami again.’
‘I’m serious. Unless you’re having second thoughts about phoning …’ She shook her head disapprovingly.
‘Fine, you win. Let’s just get rid of it.’
Lizzie watched as her friend scraped the safety match against the coarse surface of the box, the sound grating like nails down a blackboard. The tip sprang to life, its golden head gently kissing the corner of the card, engulfing it in a sunset-coloured glow before it burned out with exhaustion and everything turned black.
Megan was right. There could be no going back.
Lizzie stepped into the dark cottage, scattering a trail of watery drops as she took off Alex’s jacket, her hands struggling to grip the slippery leather. Her wet hair clung to her neck and shoulders, the rain trickling down her back and tickling her skin.
As her eyes slowly adjusted to the lack of light, she could just about glimpse Alex in the shadows, but then he switched on a table lamp, infusing the living room with a soft glow. The place wasn’t big, but what it lacked in size it made up for in character, with its exposed brick walls and dark wooden beams. It was not your typical student digs, but then she was beginning to realise that he was not your typical student.
‘You must be drenched,’ he said, kicking off his shoes with a thud. ‘That really came out of nowhere.’ His hair had been slicked back by the rain, but a few rogue strands fell forward and she wanted to brush them from his face. She did not move first, though, thrown by the wet and the cold and the sudden realisation that her dress had become almost see-through. Do I look a total mess? Alex had wanted to kiss her on the beach, of that she was sure, but the rain had extinguished the moment and now she felt self-conscious.
‘I’m OK.’
He took the dripping jacket from her. ‘Here, let me get you a towel,’ he said, disappearing for a second before surfacing with a large white one. She wrapped it tightly around herself, feeling the warmth flood back into her body, then bent down to remove her sodden sandals. ‘I’ll see if I can find you something to change into,’ he offered, striding towards what she assumed must be his bedroom.
He did not close the door fully behind him, and she couldn’t help but watch through the gap as he peeled off his T-shirt, revealing a muscular back. As he reached into his wardrobe, she could make out a jagged scar to the right of his torso, silvery and faded but noticeable nonetheless. I know nothing about this guy, she thought suddenly, and yet she wanted to find out more. She pretended to concentrate on towel-drying her hair while she kept one eye firmly fixed in his direction.
He threw on a black jumper and returned brandishing two large shirts in white and blue. ‘I don’t have much that’ll fit you, sorry. But you’re welcome to wear one of these. You can change in my room, if you like.’
‘Sure, thanks.’ She draped the towel over the back of a chair and took the white one from him, her heartbeat accelerating as she closed the bedroom door. Wriggling out of her drenched dress and into the crisp cotton shirt, its length barely skimming her thighs, Lizzie felt almost as exposed as she had a few minutes earlier. Not wanting to seem tarty, she fastened the buttons right to the top, but then that felt stuffy, so she undid the top two. She wished that her boobs were a size or two larger so she could really work the curvaceous angle.
Checking her reflection in the wardrobe mirror, she realised that her eyeliner was running halfway down her right cheek. As she scanned the room for tissues, she noted with relief that it was simple but clean, with a double bed covered in navy linen. The matt-white walls were peppered with posters of music icons – Kurt Cobain, Jimi Hendrix, John Lennon – which were starting to look a little frayed around the edges. There was no sign of food-encrusted plates, like the ones she had to rescue from Gareth’s room, or mounds of dirty student laundry; instead there was just a small pile of magazines and textbooks, a guitar leant lovingly in the corner and a corkboard dotted with photographs.
She leaned in. The same faces cropped up in multiple snaps, including a middle-aged couple who she guessed must be his parents, a guy who looked a lot like Alex and a pretty blonde shaped like a swimwear model. Lizzie peered more closely at her and felt a pang in the pit of her stomach. I hope that’s a relative, she thought, trying to avert her eyes from the blonde’s ample cleavage.
She couldn’t spot any tissues, though, and in the end she had to settle for a lick of saliva on her little finger. Before their date, she had spent over an hour perfecting her outfit and make-up, yet now she was stripped of both. Not the best look, but it’ll have to do. She ran a hand through her damp hair, gave the shirt a final inspection and stepped back into the lounge.
Alex had lit a fire and was pouring two glasses of white wine. He passed one to her then sat down on the crinkled brown leather couch, which was barely big enough for two. Lizzie sank into the adjacent armchair, curling her legs up beside her.
‘This